


Some of My Best Friends Are Alphas

by TellMeNoAgain



Series: Avengers UnPacked [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Established Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, F/F, F/M, Harley Needs Help, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Omega Verse, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:27:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22536235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain
Summary: I had someone (ASHPAW113, THAT'S YOU) rec some A/B/O, and I won't lie, it was good, I enjoyed it.   So I cracked my knuckles and decided to have some fun, too.~~~“That’s what I’m saying,” protests Harley.  “I don’t need a suit showing up every time I get cornered by a skeezy pack of dumbasses.  I can do my own protecting.”“No,” Tony tells Harley simply, because damn, he remembers that feeling, but that is not how the world works, little omega.  He can see that now, from this long distance vantage point, and all the bravado makes him cringe.  “That’s not how any of this works.  You’re an omega male, Harley.  There are maybe 200,000 of us registered, maybe, in the whole world.  You are a rare commodity, and I am not-”“A commodity?” squeaks Harley’s voice.  “Tony, are you fucking kidding me?”
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Darcy Lewis/Harley Keener/Sam Wilson, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Avengers UnPacked [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623790
Comments: 12
Kudos: 134





	Some of My Best Friends Are Alphas

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is what happens when I read a recommended story that turns into reading TEN A/B/O fics, find out that there are no RULES for this shit, and decide, "Well, fuck it, if everyone's having fun in this sandbox, I'm going to, too."
> 
> You don't have to like it, I promise. But I had a whole lot of fun writing it.
> 
> Beta'd by my brave jf4m and mindwiped, who are easily the most courageous people on the planet, because I threw this at them and said JESUS CHRIST I DON'T EVEN KNOW. I'M SORRY, and then they corrected my spelling and caught my errors like the pros they are, anyway. 
> 
> I'll put links to the fics I read to learn about A/B/O in the end notes so you can see where I came up with my universe.
> 
> Every remaining mistake and all the broken things about the rules of this AU belongs to me. Me and 3 AM, baby.

Tony acquires his next target and plots his trajectory, FRIDAY correcting his math on the fly, as Harley’s voice continues, distractingly, “-so yeah, that’s, everything’s fine, Tony. It was just, like, a false alarm, mostly.”

“Kid, it doesn’t sound like it,” grunts Tony. There’s the mark Clint saw on the guy, on the left, so he jets right to flank him as FRIDAY alerts the Captain to his imminent approach. “Sounds actually,” he continues, knocking out one of the demented frisbee-bots to his left before it careens around doing fuck all and annoying the fuck out of him, “like it was a real, honest-to-God attempt to abduct you for illicit, immoral, and illegal purposes.” _Fuck_ , there’s a lot of those frisbee-bots between him and the marked guy. He does a barrel roll while activating the suit’s autotargetted mini-drones and shooting seventeen of them off to go _stop the irritating incompetence_ before he blows a brain gasket with how annoying, poorly designed, and ineffective the frisbee-bots are. 

“Yeah, maybe,” agrees Harley doubtfully, and Tony rolls his eyes because _yeah, really_. “But they’re like, seventeen. Barely even scented, I could take ‘em.”

“Kid,” and Tony is not even attempting to keep the eye roll out of his voice, “when there’s six of them and one of you, and they’re alphas and you’re an omega, the correct response is to freak the fuck out and make some noise.”

Harley scoffs, “What, like some damsel in distress? Tony, you may not have noticed, but I’m male. I’m not some airheaded omega female who can’t fight back and get some of her own in.”

It’s Tony’s turn to scoff, as the frisbee-bots in his line of flight all fucking disappear, thank God, _finally_. Nothing between him and the marked guy, sweet. Super sweet. Excellent. FRIDAY sends an automatic status update to the Captain. “I hate to break it to you, kid, but it’s the new millenium, we’re twenty years into the new millenium, and those omega females are liberated and will totally sue the fuck out of you for defamation. Don’t know if omega lib has hit the backwater hick sticks, but the rest of us decided we’d stop believing the propaganda decades ago.” Tony focuses, sights along the targeting software, and abruptly swears as Peter swings in from the right and completely fucks up everything Tony’s working towards, here. He sighs as soundlessly as he can and watches Peter web the crap out of the guy which, okay, mission accomplished, but Tony had been looking forward to using his new capture net with built in tasers, dammit.

“That’s what I’m saying,” protests Harley. “I don’t need a suit showing up every time I get cornered by a skeezy pack of dumbasses. I can do my own protecting.”

“No,” Tony tells Harley simply, because damn, he remembers that feeling, but that is not how the world works, little omega. He can see that now, from this long distance vantage point and all the bravado makes him cringe. “That’s not how any of this works. You’re an _omega male_ , Harley. There are maybe 200,000 of us registered, maybe, in the whole world. You are a rare commodity, and I am not-”

“A commodity?” squeaks Harley’s voice. “Tony are you fucking kidding me?”

“I am not,” repeats Tony, teeth clenched as he dials up the Tower ETA on Harley’s suit, “risking losing that genius brain of yours for humanity. Sit tight, I’ll be home in an hour or so.”

“Sit tight?! Tony, I’m going to kill you,” howls Harley into the microphone.

“Good. Can’t wait,” Tony replies. “Glad you’re safe to do it. See you. One hour.”

“Tony,” howls Harley, but FRIDAY has already switched the connection over to Steve.

“Iron Man, need you over here for the last of the bots, sweep clean up,” says Steve shortly. Tony’s thrilled the alpha-voice filters in the suit scrub it completely or he’d be a wreck, he can see from here that Steve is a seething angry Alpha standing over the poor crazy engineer covered in webs.

“Oh, Alpha,” purrs Tony, delighted at the chance to deploy more of his drones. The engagement won’t be a complete loss, they’ll get all kinds of good data out of it, after all. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  


~~~

  


Peter rips off his mask and the Quinjet fills with the scent of excited pup. “Oh My God, Mr. Stark, did you see me?” he asks, eyes alight.

“I saw, sport,” says Tony, smiling back broadly. Peter is always adorable, period, because there’s something about a young omega male, something genetically programmed into every single human being, but he’s especially adorable when he’s this excited. “Totally bagged and tagged him!”

Clint, wandering by, sniffs the back of Peter’s neck in interest and says, “You smell warm. Are you warm? Is he going into heat? Tony!”

Peter rolls his eyes at Tony, who rolls his eyes back at Peter. “He’s fine, Clint,” Tony says shortly. “He smells like a pup who just got taken to a baseball game and snagged the home run ball.”

“I snagged the bad guy! Did you see me, Clint?” asks Peter, spinning to tilt his head up at the beta.

“I did,” laughs Clint. “Gonna be on the news again, I bet.”

Peter wrinkles his nose. He’s so cute it’s disgusting, thinks Tony. Was Tony that cute? He probably was, he concedes, after a quick review of every single MIT student’s reaction to him in college. Peter tells Clint earnestly, “I don’t want to do any interviews. All they ever want to talk about is omega rights and what scent brand I’m supporting this month.”

“You won’t have to,” reports the Captain, entering the Quin. “Coulson’s riding sweep for us on this one, he’ll take care of it.” He mutters to Tony, “Seriously, did you crack your suit just to get me to abandon that paperwork?”

“Harley’s at home,” Tony tells him, wide-eyed with innocence that he knows still works. He may not be a cute fluffy puppy any more, but he’s still got it.

“Ah,” says Steve, tilting his head for a second, clearly breathing in Tony’s scent. Tony watches as it relaxes him, as it calms down the gotta-pound, gotta-protect instincts that must have been surging pretty high during that encounter. They always do when it’s an alpha bad guy, Steve absolutely lives for pounding on bad alphas. Tony tilts his neck in invitation and Steve doesn’t hesitate more than a second before taking him up on his offer, all teeth and sharp kisses over the scent glands on Tony’s neck. He licks at the remains of the bond-bite and Tony whines a little, just to let him know he’s affected, okay? He’s affected. Good Alpha.

“Well,” chuckles Steve, leaning back, catching Tony’s eyes as Peter makes gagging noises and Clint pretends to vomit. “If Harley’s home, I guess we better prepare for an explosion.”

“You brought Harley to the Tower?” groans Peter. “Did you _have_ to?”

“Get used to it,” Tony suggests offhandedly. “The odds that I’d end up with two absolutely idiotic omega males I’d have to protege through life are completely ridiculous, but I’m fully committed to my role.”

Peter rolls his eyes again and flops down next to Natasha, who immediately nuzzles him, scenting him, like she can’t help it. Which, given the sheer amount of victory pheromones the kid is pumping into the Quinjet, maybe she can’t. Oh, to be young again.

“What happened to Harley,” asks Clint in a strangled tone of voice. He always sounds like that when Natasha goes full Alpha mode, so Tony ignores the tone in favor of answering the question. Peter turns into Natasha’s nuzzle so that she can get both sides of his neck, and it’s adorable, the way he burrows in like he knows he’s welcome and belongs there. It’s so fucking adorable.

“Pack of dumb teenage knotheads got him, and I say this with all gleeful honesty, ‘treed in a crick holler’ a few miles from his den,” Tony tells the Quinjet at large. “He’s probably just getting ready for his second heat, if the collective dumbass of knotheads is any indication.”

“Oh,” says Peter, his face falling. Natasha kisses the side of his head and releases him to sit and stare at Tony in shock. 

“Yeah, oh,” mocks Tony. “So be nice.” He points a finger at Peter, who attempts to give him a cheap imitation of his own innocent eyes back at him, the lousy little liar.

Steve stirs and says, “We’ll all be ready to support Harley when we land.” The whole damn Quinjet full of superheroes braces and nods in response to the Alpha tone, so Tony doesn’t feel all at embarrassed when he realizes he’s started slicking a little. It’s not his fault the man is built from super serum, godliness, and American pie, and when he smells like victory and his voice is battle-roughened, well, he makes Alphas go a little weak-kneed, Tony’s not ashamed of his biological response to all that virility. “ _Breed_ me, _fuck_ , Steve,” he declares, and he loves the way Steve immediately turns red and takes a step back.

“Get a den,” declare the rest of the Avengers with varying levels of exasperation.

Tony smirks at Steve’s obvious discomfort and murmurs, “Later, then, you bottle that up for me, though, because I am having this victory heat, you hear me?”

“We’ll see,” says Steve, which isn’t a no, so Tony’s mostly won already. Tony smirks, and loves the way the tips of Steve’s ears go absolutely scarlet.

  


~~~

  


The Quinjet touches down on the helipad and Tony is the first one off the ramp. Harley, or, well, the suit containing Harley, is standing just to one side. As Tony walks, the pieces of his suit slide off of him, back into bracelets encircling his wrists. “All right, kid,” he announces. “Mark 8, Harley’s safe.”

Harley’s faceplate slams up and Harley starts swearing under his breath as the suit collapses back into a briefcase shape. “Tony,” he growls, and it’s cute, it’s super cute that the pup thinks he has anything going when Tony sleeps next to Steve, the Alpha’s Alpha, and Pepper, the Beta To End All Betas, every night. Tony can feel his eyebrow raise at the clear challenge and then Steve is at his shoulder growling, “Language.” Harley’s jaw snaps shut and Tony teases, “Good ommy. Listen to my Alpha.”

Steve scruffs Tony and says, “You, too. Behave yourselves. He’s had a rough day, sounds like. Go give him a hug and pull him inside, I want to hear about it.”

Tony wouldn’t have hugged Harley, that’s not, that’s not their _modus_ , but he doesn’t have his alpha filters in, and that was definitely Alpha voice, and he’s not actually capable of disobeying Steve when he’s in full Alpha mode. Plus the kid looks pale and shaky and smells like shit. He clearly needs a hug. 

Tony’s still hugging Harley when Peter disembarks the plane, tucked under Falcon’s arm and looking bright eyed at the world. Tony’s hugging Harley, so he can feel the pup stiffen, and his scent go from embarrassed/relief/gratitude/almostHeat to embarrassed/threatened/almostHeat. Now’s a good time to follow the second half of the Alpha’s order, Tony decides, and he releases Harley to pull the pup inside.

  


~~~

  


Steve orders the usual post-mission menu from FRIDAY, watching his omega hug the pup on the helipad. He’d gotten enough of a whiff of Tony to chill his amped up nerves and that’s great, because now he needs to figure out some way to get the second pup to agree to Pack with them. The future is better in so many ways, he can say that now, but this? This is not one of them. The pup belongs to their pack, belongs here, where he’ll be kept safe. He doesn’t even have an Omega out there in Tennessee, much less an Alpha, which he _needs_. Steve’s all for omega lib, everyone should get to live the life they want, but basic safety comes first.

Thor’s omega wanders in and Steve sniffs the air, catching a trace of rut/smug/contentment/pickles. He smiles at her and she smiles back, a shy, awkward thing. With a scent like pickles, he completely understands why it would take an alien to get her mated. Directly behind her- and Steve acknowledges she has a name, it’s _Jane_ , he needs to remember so much has changed about the world, it’s polite now to call them by their names- bounces Darcy, in one of Thor’s t-shirts, smelling of rut/smug/happiness and the fresh clean crispness of beta. “Cap!” she greets Steve, knocking into Jane, pushing Jane into the kitchen, handing her a plate from the dishwasher. “Go eat,” she tells Jane, pressing her towards the refrigerator. “I’ll bring the big guy a plate. How’d the mission go?” she asks Steve, reaching for a box of Pop Tarts.

“Very smoothly,” Steve tells her, with a wide smile. He loves watching Darcy, whose enthusiasm for everything and wide open friendliness is so incredibly stereotypically beta that it’s almost a mockery of the breed. “Ask Peter about the final boss,” he says, because Darcy and Peter have taught him a lot about the language the young use to communicate in this new millennium in the years he has spent with them.

Darcy squeals. “Oh my God, did my omegababy save the day? Steve?!”

Steve tells her, “Ask Peter,” and turns to watch the rest of the team straggle into the penthouse. As requested, Tony has an arm wrapped around Harley and is guiding him in. Steve nods at the couch and while Tony rolls his eyes, he takes Harley to the couch and pushes him down into it.

Darcy attacks Peter and gets the pup to tell the story of his epic final boss take-down as Natasha hovers nearby. Natasha has him, then, thinks Steve with some relief. He doesn’t have to juggle two pups right this second, he can concentrate on the unhappy one.

And Harley smells so very unhappy. Steve suppresses a growl because that’s the opposite of helpful right now, hindbrain, and walks over to the couch, sitting on Harley’s other side. He rumbles, just a little, and Harley collapses against his side, clinging more than just a little, his breathing going tight in an almost-whine. “Food’ll be here in ten,” Steve tells Tony, who leans back, just out of rumble-range. Steve smiles at him, and offers his other side with a wave of his hand. He’s not surprised when Tony leans back even further in outrage. Tony rarely takes advantage of the hindbrain comforts available to him with his very own bonded Alpha, because he’s Tony and everything is difficult with Tony. Steve loves it.

He rumbles until Harley is completely boneless and starting to whimper, just a bit, to release some of the distress. Whimpering means the omega wants to talk, Steve has always felt. It’s not fair to keep them whimpering when they could be working through it with their voice. He stops rumbling and demands, “Tell me what happened.”

Harley scrubs his scent spot against Steve’s chest and Steve has so many opinions about _that_ , the pup can _have his scent_ , straight from Steve’s scentpads, if he wants it, Steve is ready to Pack him. But he holds his tongue because Tony said it has to be Harley’s choice and in this new millennium, that’s absolutely true. Harley’s voice is rebellious and angry, despite his boneless sprawl, as he tells Steve, “I had it under control, Alpha, I didn’t need rescuing.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at Tony, who rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Steve puts just a little alpha-growl into his voice as he demands, “Tell me what happened, pup.”

Harley blows out a breath and then says, in a voice that raises higher and higher into a whine, “I wasn’t doing anything, I was just walking, I’m allowed to walk, I can walk, okay? I walk that road all the time, it’s the road into town, I walk it all the time, Alpha. And then Cyrus and Jacob and Zeke and Blake and Willy and Juan came out of nowhere and they were acting so weird, Alpha, teasing but like, I think Blake tried to use alpha voice? But his hasn’t come in yet, so it was just weird, and yeah-” he shoots Tony a glare “- I shoulda been wearing my filters but sometimes I just don’t _want_ to.”

“You leave the house, you put them in,” reminds Tony mildly. “For exactly this reason, for _exactly_ -”

Steve raises a hand, between Tony and Harley, just a twitch, and Tony sits back even farther, blowing out his breath. “Go on,” Steve orders Harley, because he doesn’t like the alpha filters, himself, and he wishes in this new world they weren’t necessary. But omega lib hasn’t meant alpha taming, and without the _old-fashioned_ protections, omegas have to do what they have to do to survive their own liberation.

“So I ran,” says Harley simply, “Which is what everyone tells me to do, you all, everyone says _get out_ , so I got out, Alpha. But there were six of them, so I ended up climbing a tree.”

Instinct. Steve sighs, he can absolutely see it happening. One omega, six newly scented alphas, and thousands of years of instinctive responses. Harley ran, they chased. Once treed, which, not Harley’s fault, that’s a pretty standard instinctive response, the alphas would have begun to fight for the right to climb the tree.

“And then they got rowdy,” confirms Harley, sounding miserable. “And then the suit ate me!” he says indignantly, his scent flashing to anger/embarrassment. “I hope you called my ma,” he snaps at Tony. “Because that story’s going to be all around town already, thanks.”

“Enough,” rumbles Steve decisively, and Harley flinches. Tony looks over at Steve and rolls his eyes expressively. Steve smiles over the top of Harley’s head and cocks an eyebrow. He’s done things Tony’s way the last three months, after Harley called frantic because he slicked, he _slicked_ , Tony, what the hell. He’s let Tony lead because he trusts his omega to know how to navigate this new way of doing things. He trusts Tony not to let him misstep too much. 

Tony makes a grimace and shakes his head. Okay, then. Steve starts to rumble again, with a little more force. Harley gulps, clutching at his shirtfront, and then whines, and then sniffles. Within seconds, he’s crying out some of that built up stress and fear, and his embarrassed scent disappears in the sad-omega-scared-omega he’s putting off. Steve rumbles through it, petting gently, and noting that the whole pack is creeping closer, surrounding the pup, which cinches it for him. The pup is Pack, whether he’s ready for the move to the Tower or not. Everyone responds to him like Pack, he’s Pack, and if Tony’s not going to do anything about it, like the Pack Omega should, by God Steve will. 

Steve looks over at Tony one more time, as Harley’s scent shifts to begin threading safe-and-comforted through all that sad-and-scared. His hand gestures up and down along Harley’s twisted, clinging frame and he makes a moue of frustration at Tony. Tony snorts and slides closer, wrapping the scent of calm omega, denned omega, around both Steve and Harley, and Steve can feel the moment Harley’s hindbrain scents it and gives in by the new freshet of tears it releases. He soothes the pup and glares at Tony until Tony finally rolls his eyes and says, “Okay, kid, pup, we gotta talk.”

The whole room sighs, every single pack member, and Clint mutters, “Finally,” only to be elbowed by Sam.

Harley gasps, “Don’t wanna.”

Steve scruffs him and gives him a little shake, just enough to show he can make it worse for the pup, and growls, “That’s the Omega.”

“Sorry, Alpha,” whines Harley immediately, exactly like a good pup should, burying his face in Steve’s chest again.

“You’ve had a long hard day,” soothes Tony, and his voice makes Steve’s head tip back because when his omega goes full Omega, there is nothing that messes with Steve’s hindbrain more. Tony smiles at him, because he knows it, and Steve is taking that out on him later, raincheck, he’s getting a raincheck for all the needs he suddenly has.

Tony continues, “But you’re about to have a long hard life, Harley, if we don’t have this little chat today, right now. I can smell the pre-heat, and so can every single alpha on the planet, pup. I know your beta mom wants you close, I know you’ll miss your kid sister, but it is _not safe_ for you to walk around unscented.”

“Mom wants to marry me off,” admits Harley in a choked voice. “She’s got, there’s a doctor she knows, he’s, she says he’s nice.” Steve and Tony’s eyes meet and Steve thinks, yeah, okay, they’re in full agreement about _that_ never happening.

“What a fucking beta solution,” snorts Darcy, perched on the arm of the other couch, one hand on Jane’s back, a plate full of Pop Tarts meant for Thor on the table beside her, undelivered. “Keep you safe by making you give up everything.”

Harley scowls at her. “It’s not, it’s not giving up everything. Things are different in Tennessee,” he tells Tony uncertainly. “I can’t, I already can’t go to school.”

“What?” asks Sam, affronted. “There’s a law that says you definitely _can_.”

Harley shoots him a look before submitting and scent-rubbing Steve’s chest again. He mumbles, as embarrassment leaks through his scent, “I mean, I _could_. I just, I’d be the only omega there, all the girls drop out to go get hitched, pretty much, and the teachers don’t like it because they have to watch me, the school was telling mom I’d need an aide just to make sure I stayed safe. It’s a whole hassle,” he concludes fiercely. 

“So you haven’t been to school?” asks Peter incredulously. “How are you, what are you planning to- if you don’t have a diploma, how are you going to get a _job_ , Harley?”

Steve flinches as Harley chuckles bleakly, “Oh you sweet summer child, I’m not meant for _work_ , anymore.”

Steve and Natasha both growl at the statement, which makes Harley duck his head, flattening to Steve’s side again.

“That,” says Natasha in a clipped voice, “is the stupidest waste of a brilliant mind. What is your mother _thinking_?”

“She’s thinking I want pups, lots of ‘em,” sighs Harley. “And I do-” Steve’s arm tightens because _what a good omega, good omega, so many pups,_ he can’t help it, some instincts shouldn’t be fought, “- I just, I just also want to be able to walk down the road, you know? Without getting treed.”

“There’s a solution right here,” says Tony slowly. “And I’m at a loss because I’ve seen your psych profile, you’re giving me a run for my money, so it’s not like you’re stupid. I don’t know why you’re not taking it.”

Steve can feel a shot of distress hit Harley’s scent, so he rumbles until it disappears again, all conversation halted for the minute it takes. “Tell me why you’re not,” he orders, when Harley is boneless and pliant again.

Harley scrubs his chest again and mutters, “I gotta protect them. Ma and Abby, they can’t be alone like that.”

“Has Abby presented?” asks Sam quietly.

“Naw,” says Harley. “She’s so social, she’ll probably be beta, but she’s young yet.”

“Is anyone, is there any danger?” asks Clint, “Because two beta women, usually not a problem, usually don’t need protection.”

Harley sighs, “Naw, not really, no one, my mom’s a nurse, everyone likes her, she’s good at her job. Abby’s good in school, straight A’s, never in trouble a day in her life. _I’m_ the problem. But I promised, Tony,” he turns his head to look at the Omega. “I promised, before he left, I’d watch out for them.”

“You can watch out for them here,” says Tony firmly. “You can, we need you in the workshop, doing Pa- _team_ support.” _Nice catch_ , thinks Steve. The media can speculate all they want, but the Avengers are not an old-fashioned Pack, as much as, well, they totally are. Old-fashioned Packs get scrutiny, and psych evals, and so the Avengers are very definitely a _team_ , not a Pack. Separate bedrooms that they sleep in, and nobody bares their throat to him for a mistake. Or, well, not officially. What happens in separate bedrooms stays private. 

Tony continues, “You’ll draw an insane paycheck, ask Darcy-” Darcy wiggles her fingers and nods cheerfully, “-and you’ll have three alphas to scent you before you hit the streets, three alphas that no one will mess with.” Steve’s arm tightens because yes, that’s very true, he’s won every single fight, post-serum, and he’s pretty certain Natasha and Thor haven’t lost any alpha fights, either, and that’s exactly what their scent marks say. _Don’t mess with us, we win_.

Harley says, very quietly, “But you don’t want me.” Steve’s throat closes with the need to scent the kid right now, right exactly now, and Natasha takes two steps forward before Clint steps in front of her, casually, and hands her the apple he’d been gnawing. She glares, but accepts the distraction, biting into it savagely, leaning back against his side and accepting his soothing hands rubbing down her side.

“Like fuck I don’t,” returns Tony bluntly. “I’m the Omega around here, I decide who stays and who goes, and I told you, you belong here, with people who can support you. There’s so few of us, Harley,” and his voice is sad in a way that makes Steve have to rumble, have to rumble just a little louder, so the leading edge hits Tony just a little. “And here, I’ve got two adult omega males and a pup friend, just for you, I’m _offering_ , kid, take it.”

“But, but they don’t want me, they just, because y’all’re Omega, Tony,” whines Harley, his scent going full embarrassed pup, so embarrassed it’s tinged with distress, and a distressed pineapple is nauseating, Steve realizes suddenly. It’s nauseating, it’s _even worse_ than a sad-and-scared pineapple.

Well, he can fix that. He lifts Harley to straddle his lap and puts his hands gently on the pup’s shoulders, thumbs pressing into the scent pads just under his chin, near his ears. “Who said that? Anyone here say the rest of us were just following Omega’s orders?” he growls, pressing the pads just a little.

Harley’s jaw drops, and his eyes fly to Steve’s face, flinching when he sees the glare there and dropping down in immediate submission, _good pup_. He squirms a little and then admits, in the smallest voice yet, “No one said that.”

“You’re working with faulty data,” Tony informs him. “Just because Hicksville, Tennessee doesn’t know how to value you for anything other than your slick, doesn’t mean the rest of the world can’t see you’d be a prize for any Pack. Team,” he corrects, reaching to slide his fingers beside Steve’s on Harley’s scent pads and press there.

“Tony,” whines Harley.

“You want to stay,” Tony tells him. “I can, I know it, you _want_ to stay. _We_ want you to stay. Your mom wants you safe, Harley, and we can do that. So what’s the problem?”

Harley twists a little, and Peter offers, quietly, because he’s a good pup, he’s such a good pup, “You can, I take classes, Harley. I train. No one, I’m not limited like that, no one has ever even suggested! They just help me figure it all out. And then when you go into heat, there’s someone who understands, Harley. Spotters. How many omega males do you think have spotters?”

Harley shakes his head and blows out a breath. Steve knows rumbling would be cheating, at this point, the pup has to decide with a clear head. It’s so hard, with all that distressed pineapple in his nose, but he holds back, clinging, because this is the new millennium, and alphas just let distressed pineapples make their own decisions, now.

Tony says, “So many pillows, Harley, we’ll get you so many pillows, you can make a den, a real den, I have empty omega rooms all ready for you to move in, you can pick which one feels right, and we’ll fill it with pillows, just for you.”

“Cheating,” laughs Harley after a second, nodding his head. “I’m so close to heat, you’re totally cheating, Omega, that’s _dirty_ _pool_.”

“Anything that works,” promises Tony brashly. “It’s only the truth. Harley, let us scent you, let us mark you, make you ours, and we’ll take such good care of you, baby. Way better than Nowheresville, Tennessee. Please, you’re killing me here.”

Harley takes a deep breath, then, and blows it out, and nods, pressing into their hands, his eyes closing. “Yeah, okay,” he whispers.

The room goes crazy with excitement as Steve and Tony surge forward, rubbing their scent glands against Harley’s, marking him, making him theirs. _Finally_. He’s such a good pup, he doesn’t even whine, although it’s clear he hasn’t been scented in years, in years, thinks Steve in a daze, poor pup. Tony stands as Steve switches to Harley’s other side, and does a quick pass on the cheek Steve had already scented before lifting the first of Harley’s wrists and scrubbing his scent there, too. 

The scent of awestruck pineapple is _amazing_.

  


~~~

  


It’s not Tony who does the honors of walking Harley around to inspect rooms, after they all consume a ridiculous amount of post-battle food, it’s Natasha, because Tony’s busy with his alpha. Harley can understand that. Steve’s apple pie scent is ridiculous, it’s _impossible_ , and he was definitely filling the place with so much victory smugness that Harley was having trouble not rubbing up on the Alpha, himself.

When he chooses the room right next to Peter’s, because it just feels right, she pulls him down to the bed beside her and lifts one of his wrists to the scent pads at her jawline. “Rub,” she tells him, calmly. “I want anyone who smells you in the next five days to be absolutely certain you belong to a Pack of very fierce people who are not afraid of fights.”

He scrubs his wrist pad there, and it releases the scent of Natasha- buttered toast?- into the room.

“I’ll give you three of my pillows,” she tells him seriously. “And Tony and Steve are right now marking some up for you, too, I guarantee it. Tony won’t forget. Do you know how long before your heat hits?”

Harley blushes and shakes his head, “No, ma’am,” he tells her, and he’s so embarrassed he’s almost whining, “I’ve only had just the one and I didn’t, I didn’t know what was happening then, ‘til the slick started dripping.”

“Mm,” she hums, and the approving rumble in her voice makes his eyes half-lid and he can’t remember why he’s embarrassed, so he lets that go. “Well, little omega, I guess we’ll learn together, then.”

Harley nods, heart choking off his voice as it leaps to his throat, thinking about how now he’s got options, he maybe doesn’t have to ride out his heat with his _hands_ , maybe when he begs, because he remembers the begging, maybe he’ll get _helped_.

Darcy, Clint, Sam and Jane burst in, arms full of pillows that they quickly move to toss in the low corner next to the mini fridge. 

“Uh, brace yourself,” warns Darcy brightly. “Because Thor’s just post-rut so he’s definitely not capable of waiting to scent you up, and he’s definitely a lot to take just on an average weekday, and this is _not_ an average weekday. Bruce’ll be in, too,” she adds, as Harley gulps at this image. “He’s just grabbing you some of his blankets.”

“You didn’t say,” adds Clint, “so we went with traditional, alpha and beta pillows, omega blankets.”

Harley nods, replying quietly, “I don’t know, I never had any to- I just used my own, last time.”

Every person in the room growls a little at this reveal and Harley flinches. “I didn’t know what was goin’ on, and my ma’s a beta and there was no one to _ask_ ,” he defends himself.

“Tell me you went through your _first_ _heat_ without a pillow from her to remind you you’re not abandoned and alone, and I’m calling social services,” Sam says flatly.

Harley winces and says absolutely nothing.

“Harley,” says Clint, very slowly, very seriously, “you are never, ever, ever going back there again. She can come here if she needs to. I’m sure you still want her around, I get that, I got problematic family, too, but you’re not going back to her den.”

Every head in the room that Harley can see nods and Natasha rumbles a little, dangerously. Harley’s teeth clench for a moment until the rumble takes over and he forgets why he was so sad, so defensive. Alpha’s here, and he’s safe and warm, and well-protected, with his pack.

He catches the last of Darcy’s words as Natasha dials down the rumble, “-I mean, what a fucking _beta_ idea, who does she think she is?”

The doorway is suddenly filled with a massive figure, holding two more pillows. “Pack!” booms a loud, deep voice that hits Harley’s spine and snaps it straight. “I have come to scent our newest addition. I like this room, a fine choice, little mechanic!” This has got to be Thor, thinks Harley. The man pads into the room wearing nothing but soft flannel sleep pants, and tosses the pillows effortlessly onto the pile in the corner. He turns to Harley and smiles broadly. “I do not know you, omega,” he says respectfully. “Will someone introduce us?” It’s the first time anyone’s ever treated Harley like he was a real omega, with all the courtesies that are supposed to happen, and Harley’s jaw drops a little as the alpha drops down to his knees before Harley.

“Alpha Thor, this is Omega Harley,” says Natasha, pushing Harley forward a little, releasing her hold on him. “Omega Harley, this is Alpha Thor.”

“Welcome to the Pack,” states Thor, and then winces. “Or, well, I’m not supposed to call it that,” he reminds himself. “This is very awkward. Can you do nothing to fix it?” he asks the room in general.

“Nope,” says Darcy, her tone teasing. “Stupid liberation, all them uppity omegas pointing out that biology doesn’t have to be destiny.”

Thor sighs and says, “Welcome, Omega Harley.”

Harley knows there’s words he’s supposed to say, he’s seen all the movies, but they don’t work, when there’s no Pack, so he settles on, “It would be an honor to carry your scent, alpha,” which seems to please the whole room, if the rumbling purrs from every throat are any indication.

Thor tugs him down to kneel and then rubs Harley’s wrists all over his scent pads, releasing the scent of ozone into the room. Ozone and buttered toast and apple pie go better than they have any right to, thinks Harley, a little dazed, as Thor rubs cheeks with him. “Be well, omega,” rumbles Thor, switching sides, and Harley nods, helplessly. 

Thor pulls back and bounds to his feet, leaving Harley on the floor to grab up Jane in one swoop and declare, “I would like cheese bread and cookie dough.” He looks over at Darcy and pleads, “Would you acquire them for me?”

“Yeah, c’mon, big guy,” sighs Darcy, rolling her eyes for Harley’s benefit.

As they exit, Harley’s phone starts to buzz. He pulls it out of his hoodie pocket and it’s Abby. Another guy enters the room with an armful of blankets as Harley hunches away from, well, his Pack-not-Pack and swipes to answer the call, “Yeah?”

“Ohmigod, Harley, are you ok? Only this guy said to call you and the other guys are packing up your things and they’re all in suits and if you are in trouble, mama’s gonna skin you, she’s working doubles, Harley,” rattles Abby, sounding more annoyed and excited than distressed.

“I’m fine, who’s there?” asks Harley warily.

“He says he’s from Stark Industries, here, he gave me a card, Happy Hogan? Only they flew in a helicopter, Harley, and Mr. Jensen’s all P.O.’d about it, like to bite my head off like I called ‘em here special which I _didn’t_.”

“Yeah, that’s fine, then,” hazards Harley. “I’m, uh, goin’ t’be staying out here with Omega Stark. His Alpha, uh, scented me, gonna stay here for awhile under his protection.”

There’s a resounding silence on the other end before Abby says slowly, “Are you telling me, Harley Keener, that Captain America _scented_ you?”

“Yes,” says Harley, and then he winces.

“Oh. My. Gawd.” breathes Abby. “I don’t know how you sat on that lucky horseshoe that is shoved up your ass but brother, I have never been more green.”

“Naw,” says Harley, sternly, “no need to go repeatin’ that kinda language, now. Y’all ok?”

Abby’s voice is soft and sweet as she tells him, “Just fine, big brother. Me’n mama’ll do just fine, was you that needed extra, and it sounds like you found it. Don’t you worry on us a smidge.”

Harley breathes out. “Well, okay, then.”

“You think Captain’ll give me a hug, when we come out to visit?” asks Abby, and Harley can picture the calculating expression on her face.

“Maybe,” he tells her, heart thumping.

“Only I heard Mama say she was hoping Omega Stark was gonna help you out some, before she had to marry you off,” Abby confesses, “and I been plannin’ on how to ask him for his mate to hug me ever since. He the type to go gettin’ offended?”

“Doesn’t seem to be,” Harley tells her, feeling relief wash through him.

Abby hums and then says brightly, “Oh, they’re done! Good! Get that helicopter _gone_ already, Lord, I do not envy Mama the ear-ringing she’s gonna catch tomorrow when Ms. Jensen sees her flowers. Yes, shoo, good work, get gone, Happy Hogan, whoever you are. Love you, Harley,” she adds, “but I gotta do up dinner if you’re not coming home.”

“Love you, too, Abbybug,” he says.

“Ask about my hug,” she orders, and then there’s silence.

Harley swallows and looks up at the strange omega, dropping the phone into his hoodie pocket again. “H-hello? Sorry, that was my kid sister.”

“Bruce Banner,” says the omega cordially, passing Harley a pile of blankets that smell like cinnamon gummy bears. “Last omega on the list, if you’ve met Jane and Peter.”

Harley nods. 

“Well, then. You smell stressed out,” says Bruce, making a face. “Alpha?”

Natasha pulls Harley back against her chest, nuzzles until her cheek is flush against his, and rumbles. Harley closes his eyes and lets biology erase all the thoughts chasing around his head until the only thing he’s thinking is, _I am such a good, safe pup._ He’d be embarrassed, but he’s heard Tony curse out Steve before for causing exactly that same reaction ( _While I’m on the phone diagnosing hardware issues from eight states away with no schematics is the number one time, Alpha, the number one time I need you to_ ** _not,_** _I’m allowed to be a little stressed)_ and Tony’s older than Harley’s dad, so it must just be an omega thing. The scent of buttered toast and cinnamon is absolutely delicious and it’s completely unfair, except he’s so warm he’s never pulling away.

His stomach growls and Bruce pulls away from the embrace with a chuckle, “Oh, I remember those days. Let’s feed you, pup.” His eyes are incredibly kind, and Harley absolutely appreciates the stylish way he folds his arm into Natasha’s. There’s a bond-bite peeking out of the collar of his shoulder, just a hint, and Harley’s no expert but he’d guess it exactly matches the shape of Natasha’s teeth, from the way she leans in just a touch.

Harley throws the blankets onto the pile to follow them. He’ll probably have plenty of time before his heat sets in to rearrange them, and if not, well, that’s something he can address in early heat. He’d rearranged the den he made in his closet so many times during his first one, trying to ignore the other instincts in favor of the one that wasn’t- _gross_.

Maybe this time, it’ll be better, he thinks hopefully.

  


~~~

  


Peter’s in the kitchen, with a vat of boiling water on the stove, looking adorably domesticated, thinks Harley with a sneer. He’s switched into loose sweatpants, a t-shirt, and an apron, an actual apron. He’s barefoot, which makes Harley’s lip snarl, and he has to work to pull it back down because the kid is _in his own den_ , he’s allowed to _look at home_. Even it it does look like he’s _advertising_ , that’s just because Harley’s new here, new to this not-Pack.

Natasha slides a hand out from Bruce’s arm and runs it up Peter’s back, casual and possessive at the same time. “Did Thor stop here?” she murmurs.  
  
“Yes, Alpha,” says Peter happily, stirring something in the other pot. “I told him I’d make cheesy bread with dinner.” He kicks the oven and then adds, “No dice on the cookie dough, though. We’re out of chocolate chips.”

“That is a shame. Have you added them to the list?” she inquires.

“Oh, no, Alpha,” Peter says, and then Harley watches as he tilts his head and blinks before continuing, “thank you for reminding me,” in the most sickly sweet tone Harley has ever heard in his _life_. This is- this is just disgusting, the way the kid is, like, playing up his omega, right here, where anyone can see it. Nevermind that they’re Pack, or not-Pack, whatever, the kid should have some self-respect.

Natasha says, “FRIDAY, did you get that?”

“Chocolate chips, check, added,” says the AI.

“How many more minutes on the tortellini?” asks Peter.

“Three,” responds the AI. “Just enough time for a song if you’d like.”

“I would,” laughs Peter, dusting his hands and shooting Natasha a hopeful glance that has Harley gritting his teeth because _c’mon, now_. “Alpha?”

“Well, you did save the day,” she sighs, but she’s smiling. Music, fast and eager, starts to blare in the kitchen, and they fall into an easy, acrobatic dance that makes Harley feel sick to his stomach because Peter isn’t a real person and this kind of shit is only supposed to happen in movies. Watching it play out in real life, right in front of him, is like peeping in a psych ward window, he shouldn’t be doing it. He sets his chin and moves to the living room, because that’s wrong, it’s just wrong.

Bruce follows him, and when Harley drops onto the couch, Bruce drops down beside him, way too close for comfort. “You smell like your heat’s almost here,” Bruce informs him. Harley nods, bruskly, because he doesn’t want to talk about it with anyone, but especially not with an experienced omega male who’s not Tony. “What number is it? You don’t smell _settled_ , early days yet, I’d guess.”

“Second,” replies Harley shortly, feeling irritated. Can the guy not take a hint?

“Just your second? You seem so calm. God, my second I was sobbing in my bedroom,” chuckles Bruce.

That’s a weird thing to laugh about, thinks Harley resentfully. He’s _never_ going to laugh about his first time, when he was sobbing in _his_ bedroom. He nods firmly, hoping to dissuade the omega from future questions.

“So, who are you going to ask to help out?” says Bruce, head tilted.

Harley chokes on air. “Help out?” he gasps, when he can. It’s not like he hasn’t considered the possibility in abstract.

“Yeah,” says Bruce, and his eyes are twinkling. What a _jerk_. “The whole point of a Pack, Harley, is to support the omegas. Basic biology. Heats, whelping, pups, it takes a whole lot of effort and we’re social creatures, Harley. We prefer to do everything together, if we can.”

“I, uh,” Harley clears his throat. He’s not used to omegas, who can read his emotions just by sniffing, he’s, he’s mostly only lived with his ma and sister, neither one of whom can smell anything. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” he admits in a rush. “Do you, do you just ask, or-?”

“I mean, yes,” says Bruce, kind eyes laced with rich humor. “Usually you ask. I hear Xavier’s got an omega or two that can use telepathy but the rest of us, we have to ask. So who were you thinking? I do not recommend Thor, he just got done with rut and you’ll knock him right back into it.”

“Thor?” squeaks Harley. “Uh, no, no, I don’t want to ask Thor.” Lord, keep Thor far away from him. It’s only been a few months since Harley found out he’d have to take a knot at some point, he’d prefer it not be the God of Thunder’s to start. Or ever. _Holy shit_.

“So, Beta? Alpha? Omega? Any preference for breed?” presses Bruce. “I’m asking now, because you’re about to tip over, if my nose knows its business. And we need consent, we’re a consent household, I need to know who’s on your den list.”

“Not- not alpha,” mutters Harley. “I just… I couldn’t…” I mean, he’s designed to take an alpha, that’s what omega means, but Harley shies away from that. Not this heat, he tells his brain firmly.

“Not alpha,” agrees Bruce easily. “We’ll work up to that. Peter’s not taking any alpha males either, that’s completely normal. Although it would also be normal if you wanted to. Listen to your instincts. You’ve got options. So, omegas? You want Tony?”

“Oh God, no,” hisses Harley. “He’s like, I don’t have a _dad_ , Bruce.” Harley stops himself before he can say more.

“Well, Pack Omega, if he wants to be there,” says Bruce doubtfully, “Just to make sure everything’s a positive experience for you…”

“Can’t we videochat it or something?” says Harley, his voice sliding up in panic to whine territory.

“Maybe,” concedes Bruce, and his brow furrows as he thinks about it. Harley doesn’t know much about pack dynamics, they’re mostly, you’re not supposed to want to join a pack, it’s totally a trashy thing, a stick-hicks thing, an Amish thing. But he does remember, now, that there’s strict hierarchy and it’s the Omega who builds the relationships, it always is. Bruce sighs after a while, and asks Harley, “You’d feel unsafe with Tony there?”

“No,” explodes Harley. “I just, it was so, I was so, last time, and I don't want him to see, it was so bad, Bruce,” he concludes lamely.

“Ah,” says Bruce. “Well, it won’t be bad this time. It’ll be good. You think you’d feel unsafe if Tony checked on you?”

“No,” says Harley firmly. “I’d feel safe.”

“Good,” says Bruce. “So, unless you’d like to ask me, that leaves Peter, Jane, and the betas for partners.”

“Not Peter,” grits Harley.

Bruce’s lips twitch. “So Jane and the betas, then?”

“The betas,” Harley decides. “They can. I can, the betas can come in.”

“Good. Three’s a good number, two males, one female, it’s a good mix,” muses Bruce. “Peter used to insist on me and Nat and Clint, it’s a good mix.”

“Tony can come check on me,” Harley states again, just so that’s clear. “Or Steve, I don’t, whoever has to, they can come check on me.”

“Not Steve,” laughs Bruce. “There’s no way he’ll drop in-” he laughs so hard he has to stop talking for a moment- “just to check on you, oh my God.” He wheezes for a moment and Harley’s starting to feel irritated with him, too. The guy laughs so much, all the time.

“Okay, time to go round up folks,” says Bruce, eyes narrowing at Harley. “You want to go back to your den or just sit here while I do that?”

Go back? To his den? Why would Harley need to do that? What’s wrong with this couch? What’s wrong with him sitting right here on this couch, right in the center of the pack’s den, where it smells like everyone, smells like Tony and apple pie and ozone and the clean almost minty fresh after scent of the pack betas. “I’ll sit,” he mutters, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, kid,” says Bruce easily, standing and ruffling Harley’s hair. Harley crosses his arms and glares at the coffee table because he’s not glaring at the other omega, he’s not, he just joined this crazy not-a-Pack, he’s not getting kicked out for being rude and glaring at an established pack omega. “Be right back.”

The music stops and Natasha calls, “Harley?” a second before she appears, vaulting the couch to kneel in front of him. “Oh, baby,” she croons, in a strange voice that makes Harley’s heart beat just a little faster. “Oh, baby, Harley,” she says, her voice gone thick and roughly threaded with alpha growl. “You gotta, you gotta get to your den, sweet, sweet, so sweet.” Her hand rises, slowly, to touch Harley’s hair back from his forehead, and when he flinches, she shushes him, “Shhh, not a knothead, not gonna hurt you.” Her hand trails through his hair and rests alongside his jawline, cupping his chin gently.

Peter wanders over and audibly sniffs the air. He backpedals, fast. “Oh, uh, sorry, Harley, I’ll just, you don’t want me, do you?”

“No,” growls Harley, only it comes out a lot higher, with Natasha looking right at him, her thumb resting on the pulsepoint beside his scentpad. 

“We gotta, we gotta go, did anyone ask you who you want?” asks Peter, his voice irritatingly high pitched in Harley’s ears.

“Bruce did,” replies Natasha confidently, even though she’d been dancing in the kitchen with Peter like a freak, like Peter’s a freak, like that. “Calm down, I’m sure he’s just collecting them, letting them know where we are. Shhh, щенок, shhh,” she soothes, her thumb rubbing gently, hypnotizingly, over his pad. Harley tilts his head back, submission, or maybe just to give her better access, if she needs it, he doesn’t know and he doesn’t really care. “C’mon, stand for me, little ommy. Stand for your alpha.” Harley would climb mountains, if only she’d press, push her thumb, touch him there, stop teasing. He pants at her and rises to his feet. She soothes, “Good, good щенок. A few steps, don’t you want, don’t you want your den? We put so many pillows, Harley, so many pillows, and blankets, you’ll be so warm.”

“Warm,” moans Harley, because that sounds amazing. He wants to be warm. How did he get so cold, so quickly?

“A little accelerated,” Bruce is telling someone, somewhere behind Harley. “Probably, that chase this morning, that’s textbook, and then all the scenting, also textbook, especially if he hasn’t been scented in years. And then you figure Thor’s rut in, and honestly I’m surprised he didn’t flip over the minute Steve scented him.”

“You mean the alphas went and pushed the poor kid over the edge,” interrupts Darcy. “Such an alpha thing to do. Buncha knotheads.”

“Hey,” disagrees Clint. “Some of my best friends are alphas.”

The three betas burst into laughter until they see Harley, being led by Natasha.

“Oh, you weren’t kidding,” says Sam lowly. “Okay, okay, Nat, I got him, you, you go with your omega, look, Bruce is right there, he need you, Natasha, Alpha, please, look at him, your omega, Bruce needs you.”

Clint lifts Harley up as Sam talks to Natasha, talks Natasha into releasing Harley. Clint lifts him up and then carries him, one hand under his knees and the other under his back. His hands are hot and his body is warm and Harley doesn’t really care about anything but those two facts as he nuzzles closer to Clint’s scentless neck. Nothing but clean, clean, clean beta scent, under all the hints of Natasha, hints of Alpha. He chases the smells of ozone, buttered toast, apple pie, around Clint’s neck.

Someone opens a door, to a room filled with scent, and Harley struggles in Clint’s grasp. Clint chuckles and says, “Let me help, little ommy, let me get you to your nest. So many pillows, pack scented, Harls, you’re gonna love it.”

He slides Harley down and the pillows are all wrong, every one of them is just jumbled, so Harley begins to sniff and stack them, shifting the blankets, but nothing is right, it’s all wrong, and he can feel panic growing in his chest.

“Shh, Shh,” says Sam, creeping closer, opening his arms. Harley dives into them, frantic for reassurance. It’s all wrong and Tony said it wasn’t going to be like last time, but it’s all wrong, somehow, the nest is broken, he can’t even build the nest right.

“Alpha and Omega are a little busy,” Darcy tells him, “But I’m sure someone will go get some pillows and blankets from them soon.”

“Oh is _that_ what he’s looking for?” asks Clint. Harley whines and Darcy and Clint scramble to get closer, to touch. Clint pulls off his shirt, and Harley _likes that_ , wants to be shirtless, too, wants to feel _skin_ , wants to feel not alone. Not alone.

“Let me help,” offers Sam, and Harley doesn’t even have to whine for help this heat, apparently, the three betas are just going to _take_ _care_ _of_ _him_. It’s so wildly different from his first heat that he feels tears well up in his eyes as Sam skims the shirt off, and then Darcy’s bare chest is pressed to his back, too, and while it’s still wrong, the den isn’t _done_ , it’s so good right here, all this skin, that he stops panicking.

“Shh,” they soothe, running gentle fingers down his flanks. “Shhh.”

  


~~~

  


Harley has no memory of Tony coming in, but three days later, when he starts to pull up out of the mental fog, Tony’s scent is everywhere, comforting and confident and sure. The three betas are sleeping next to him, and when he stirs, Clint stirs, too, eyes flicking open and immediately intent. “Ommy?” whispers Clint, snuggling closer, rubbing his nose against Harley’s. “You coming up?” 

Harley nods and Clint smiles, smug and happy. “How d’you feel?”

Harley smiles back. “Pretty awesome,” he admits. “Is that, is that how it’s supposed to go?” He doesn’t remember much, it’s all flashes of scent and touch and taste and need, but he doesn’t remember fear or begging or shame or pain, so that’s enough, actually. The rest is just, just amazing, really.

“Yeah,” smiles Clint. “Yeah, you were so good, pup, so good for us. Happy to be your heat partner any time.”

“Me too,” mumbles Sam, eyes still closed.

“Three, me three,” sighs Darcy just behind Harley. She nuzzles closer to him, nose stirring the hair at the nose of his neck. “You smell amazing, Harls, and you’re so good, so good, ommy.”

“So fucking slick,” agrees Clint. Harley blushes and the man taps him on the nose with a finger. “Just the way you should be. We’re so lucky, ommy. Some alpha some day is gonna be blown away, such a good omega.”

“‘S honor,” mumbles Sam. “Omega as good as you, Harley, you’re so sweet, so good. You hungry yet, ommy?”

“Shower first,” argues Darcy, peeling back just a little. Harley winces and nods, croaking, “Shower,” because the room reeks, and Harley is just absolutely covered in his own sticky slick, and so is everyone else.

“Shower it is,” groans Clint. “And then food, and then we’re all going out to the couches, and we’re all gonna be smug as fuck and take a nap.”

“Smug as _fuck_ ,” repeats Darcy, peeling herself off of Harley and putting a hand under his elbow to help him up. Sam is on his feet with a single bound, helping Clint up and then grabbing for Harley, too. 

“Just let us,” Sam tells Harley, when Harley shakes his head. “Instincts are going wild. Gotta let us do for you a little still.”

Harley smiles and declares, “Okay. Smug as fuck, huh?”

“As fuck,” repeats Clint, smiling broadly, rubbing a hand on Harley’s back, propeling him to the bathroom. “You’re so good, Harley, such a good ommy.”

“Textbook amazing,” Darcy reassures him, turning on the water, adjusting it quickly. “11/10, 6 out of 5 stars, would den up again, could go for three more days, feel free to stretch it out next time.” Harley is starting to feel a little smug, himself, and he knows it hits his scent when Clint chuckles and says, “Good ommy, you should puff up a bit, pup, strut a little. You did so good.”

Harley feels Sam press him towards the center of the spray. “Get in, omega. We’ll wash you off and get you ready for the whole Pack to come spoil you a bit. Did you smell how proud Tony was, when he came to check? You wanna talk smug as fuck, Omega’s smug as fuck.”

“Is he?” asks Harley. There’s something, something amazing about that, too, pleasing the pack Omega. Pleasing _his_ pack Omega.

“Holy shit, kid,” laughs Clint. “He came in that second time so coated in the alphas' scents they must have jumped him and rubbed on him the whole night, he was that scented up. The whole _team’s_ probably walking around smug, ommy. That’s how good you are.”

Harley’s jaw drops a little and Darcy nuzzles the scent pad just below his jawline with her nose. “Such a good ommy,” she says. “So proud of you. Did so good.”

Sam starts lathering up, his hands everywhere on Harley’s body, and the clean scentless soap slides across Harley’s skin like a salve, stripping away all of the sticky slick. Clint and Darcy laugh as they soap themselves and then take over for Sam to do Harley’s hair so that Sam can get himself lathered up, too.

They tumble out of the shower, laughing, and it’s a chaos of towels and touches as they dry each other and the praise never stops, they never stop even for one second telling Harley how good his is, how happy they are, how proud everyone is going to be. 

Harley… could get used to being an omega, maybe, if this is part of it. This is totally nothing like his first heat, _nothing_ like it. He feels incredible. He’s- since the first drip of slick months ago, he’s not been comfortable in his own skin, felt itchy and awkward. But right now? Right now he feels powerful, powerful and sleek and like he could do _anything_.

“Mm, smell so good, pup,” says Sam, sliding a t-shirt down Harley’s chest. He takes advantage of the moment to nuzzle into Harley’s neck, releasing the scent a little. “Mmm. You smell so good.”

“Pants,” declares Natasha. Harley makes a disgusted noise and she actually coaxes him, _coaxes_ him, like that’s reasonable, that’s entirely reasonable, “C’mon, now, ommy, they’re so soft, I promise, the softest, lightest, you won’t even feel them, they won’t bind, I promise, we wouldn’t do that to you, know you’re raw a little, c’mon, ommy, just for me?” Harley’s head is spinning, but he lifts a leg and lets her pull up a pair of soft, thin pajama pants with lots of stretch, loose and baggy, riding low on his hips. They do feel fine, he thinks resentfully.

“Aww, now, no pouting,” laughs Clint. “Where’s my strut, Harley?” 

Harley rolls his eyes, as Sam says, “Okay, you wanna go try to clear out your system, get the works running again? Don’t want you to have to run for the can when we’re all trying to be smug as fuck and make everyone jealous.”

Harley winces and nods, heading for the bathroom. Yeah, he’d learned _that_ lesson last time, too. Three days without using it, stuff gets a little explosive when the system starts back up.

“We’ll be right here, if you want us,” calls Darcy. “Right here!”

“He’s not going to want us,” Clint scoffs.

“But if he does,” she argues, “I am _offering_. Me first, Harley! Clint can go bark up a tree.”

“Hey! You remember who respected your privacy, omega, that was me, you call for me, if you need help,” Clint calls.

Harley laughs as Sam joins in the mock argument, and thinks about relaxing, thinks about getting this part over with, thinks about how hungry he wants to be. It’s over, or, well, started, pretty fast, this time, and because he knew it would happen, it’s not that bad, really, not like last time, when he’d been absolutely disgusting and had to throw away the sheets and covers still left on his bed. 

He washes his hands and closes the door behind him and all three Betas descend on him immediately, rubbing their hands up his sides and praising him, reminding him how good he was, how good he is, until he’s only feeling smug as fuck and a little residual heat rises up in his scent.

“Okay, enough,” laughs Sam. “Don’t get him started again, although Harley, if you want, we can skip the whole couch thing and just stay here, I don’t mind.”

“ _I_ don’t mind,” interjects Clint, his eyes flashing at Sam.

“Gentlebetas,” snorts Darcy. “We have a very good omega to go show off, and I for one, am dying to see the reactions to his scent because damn, he smells _good_. We did good work, pack.”

All three betas smile broadly at Harley and he feels so fantastic, so incredible, just a little heat slipping down his spine, and absolutely smug as fuck, as requested. He nods at her and she squeals, she literally squeals, and says, “Okay, Sam, you carry him. I’m grabbing blankets, Clint, as many pillows that smell as strongly as you can find and carry.”

“I can walk,” protests Harley, and all three betas scoff, wasting no time in their assignments. 

“Sure, you _can,”_ Sam tells him, swinging him up. “You _can,_ but you just had one fuck of a second heat and we’re so proud, ommy. You’re gonna let us take care of you right, yeah?”

Darcy kicks the door open and leads the way. Clint is still in the nest, rooting through the pillows, although the pile he’s already selected is humongous. 

They spot Jane in the hallway and she squeaks, “Oh wow!” and runs ahead, calling, “They’re out, Alpha, Omega, they’re out!” Which is so embarrassing but really, what more could Harley honestly expect from an omega who smells like _pickles_?

Sam slides him onto the sectional as people start to wander in. Darcy drapes a blanket over him and Clint, with a grunt, drops the whole pile of pillows on the ground in front of Harley, causing the scent of his heat to float up and permeate the entire room. “Here, this one and this one,” says Clint authoritatively, tucking a pillow under each of Harley’s elbows. He grabs for one of the other blankets and Darcy pulls it back, hissing, “Mine. This one’s mine.”

“No, mine,” teases Clint, tugging back. They’re fighting over his _heat blankets_ , Harley realizes in a daze, before arms wrap around him from the back and Natasha’s voice says in his ear, “Oh, ommy, you smell so good. Did you have fun? Did you have a good time, omega?”

“Y-yeah,” he stutters, because that’s, that’s- her voice has made his heat scent spike a little, he can smell it. She can smell it too, because she chuckles and says, “Just got done, not even all the way clear, you sure you want to be out here?”

He nods, biting his lip, as she rubs her scent pads against his, inhaling deeply.

“Stop hogging the omega,” complains Tony. “I’m all proud Pack Omega and I need to scent him up some, show off how proud we are.” He walks around to the front of the couch, though, head tilted a little, smile twisting his lips. 

“Answer the alpha,” Tony orders Harley. “You sure you want to be out here, smelling like that? Fuck, you’re smug as fuck and still have a little heat in you yet.” Natasha nods and doesn’t release Harley even an inch, Harley notes.

Harley grins up at him as Clint and Sam high five over his head and Darcy does a victory shimmy before settling herself on the floor directly between his legs, head resting on his left knee. Clint slides in on his right and accepts a nuzzle from Natasha while her arms stay wrapped around Harley from behind. Sam actually wiggles his way around the bodies already piled around and beside Harley to warm his left flank.

“Okay, I can see why you’re a little smug,” chuckles Tony. “Up and over, Darcy, gotta scent him, duck your head.” He climbs over Darcy while Sam and Clint groan at the invasion of knees on either side of Harley’s thighs. Tony rubs his cheeks to Harley’s, back and forth, back and forth, switching sides and rubbing again. His beard stubble is rough and abrasive but Harley’s gotten used to that, in the nest, so he only winces a little as Tony presses his scent- vanilla/proud/smug- into Harley’s scentpads, where it lingers. He can smell it every time he inhales, Tony and Natasha mingled with his own heat-scent.

“Get smugger,” Tony tells him, pulling back a little. “Get super smug, Harley, you did so good. I came to check and you were such a good omega, so sweet, I’ve been walking around so smug, hell, Natasha and Thor and Steve have been insufferable _all_ _week_. Peter omega-challenged an intern at the lab yesterday, he’s floating so high, had to make him sleep in with us last night to keep him from going into sympathy heat.” Harley’s mind boggles at this revelation and Tony grins. “So proud of you,” he reiterates, rubbing Harley’s wrists to his neck. 

A hand reaches and takes the wrist from Tony and then there’s Bruce’s smug cinnamon floating in the air, too. “Sorry,” says Bruce, dropping the wrist and reaching for the other one. “Just, gonna squeeze mine in here before the other alphas show up and I won’t have time.”

“Me too!” says Peter, and Harley rolls his eyes at Tony, who smiles down at him. Peter’s scent explodes in Harley’s nose as the other omega pushes Bruce and Natasha to one side to rub his cheek on Harley’s left cheek. He _is_ hovering on heat, Harley realizes in shock, and he’s so happy-marshmallow-smug-proud that it’s overwhelming, which shouldn’t be possible with Natasha’s alpha right there on the other side. Peter is pumping out a lot of scent, is all, and it’s so happy and smug it makes Harley squirm. He did that, _he’s_ the reason the pack is so ecstatic, so collectively smug. That’s _him_.

“Such a good omega,” declares Tony again. “Knew you would be, such a good kid. Peter, get off of him, go sit over there-” he waves at an armchair several feet away, “-no, we’re not throwing your cycle off, that’s not happening. You scented him, I let you. Now _go_.” Natasha underscores this direction with a little alpha growl and Peter continues to make unhappy whining noises as he pulls off and reluctantly goes over to the armchair, flopping over it. Bruce perches on the arm and rubs a hand against Peter’s scruff, which makes the pup close his eyes and press back. 

Harley stares a moment because in all of his daydreams about bonding and packs, he’d never even once thought about pack _siblings_ , about, like, well, not littermates, but like, _peers._ And Peter’s an omega, like him, and that’s crazy. That’s absolutely nuts, the odds on that are- Well, actually, Harley corrects himself, probably pretty good. Omega males tend to seek each other out, in these modern times when social media makes it so easy to find people who are like you. There are even omega schools, omega colleges, the school counselor back in Rose Hill had mentioned them doubtfully to Harley as options. 

And so maybe they weren’t options for Harley Keener, nobody omega from Rose Hill, sure, but he’s Harley Keener, Avengers support team, now. Maybe they are an option now.

Natasha shifts away and then the scent of proud apple pie fills Harley’s nostrils, making him toss his head a second before his Alpha _lifts him up_ to perch on the back of the couch, chest already rumbling. “Mm,” grumbles Steve. “Good omega, so proud, you did so good, can smell it on you. Been smelling it all week.”

Harley stares at Tony in panic. The other man’s proud smile slides into a smug smirk and he winks. “Alpha,” teases Tony, “You be careful. You might knock him right back into it, if you rumble like that.”

The rumbling doesn’t stop, doesn’t even pause. “He smells like this, he deserves it,” growls Steve. “You up for it, pup? Take a knot?” He shakes Harley and Harley would definitely be panicking but he can’t because the rumble is all he can feel, safe and comfortable, so much pride and alpha in every breath.

“We did a good job,” complains Clint. “He didn’t pick you, he picked us, and we did great, just smell him. No complaints, not one!”

Harley wasn’t going to mention the whole I-didn’t-pick-you thing to Steve. Should he say no hard feelings, or, like, is it _assumed_? Is there a manual for this not-Pack stuff? Harley wouldn’t read it anyway, but Peter looks like to type to read it and share.

“You did,” agrees Steve, rubbing his rough cheek against Harley’s, arms wrapping him tight to Steve’s chest, and hello, okay, that’s an Alpha’s, uh, junk, rubbing against his butt, just a little, okay, unexpected, but okay. Harley can be cool with that if everyone else is just going to be cool with it, too. “He smells amazing. So smug, little ommy, so well done.” Harley’s head is spinning, between the rumbling and the rubbing, the tight grip and the apple pie approval that’s filling his head, and he can feel his heat start to rise back up and grip his brain again.

“Okay, you too,” complains Tony, shooing Steve backwards ineffectively. The rumble breaks up into a chuckle and Harley is _bereft_. “I am not dealing with a rut this early in your cycle, that’s not happening. Nobody is syncing, absolutely nobody, we have an excellent schedule, and we are _sticking to it_. I am the Omega and I say, _not now,_ Alpha. Go sit, over there-” he points at the couch on the opposite room from Peter and Bruce. “Go sit and be a knothead over there.”

“Yes, Omega,” says Steve respectfully, with just a little hint of smug tease in his tone, releasing Harley to slide back down onto the couch and tussling his hair in a caress that does absolutely nothing for Harley’s rising heat except exacerbate it until he’s panting a little, looking up at Tony in shock.

“Dammit,” grunts Tony, and then he’s sliding back over Darcy’s head, knees on either side of Harley’s thighs again. His cool vanilla approval is unchanged, unchanged and so calm, so cool, that Harley reaches up and pulls him down, burying his nose in Tony’s cool, his calm, his approval. He’s whining, he realizes, and buries his nose deeper, a little frantic. “Shhh, good ommy,” says Tony, rubbing cheeks roughly, his beard stubble rasping against Harley’s face and neck roughly. “Shh, back down, calm, good ommy, you did so good. We’re so proud, scented up the whole Compound, got trainees in SHIELD knotting themselves like crazy, as bad as when Peter heats up, good work, omega, so proud of you. Shh.”

“Good omega,” says Clint, and Harley gasps, because it’s his heat partner, he knows that voice, so calm, so assured. His eyes half lid, then, and he can feel himself relax into it.

“Good work, Harley,” says Darcy smugly, wrapping her hands around his ankles tightly, knocking her head on his knee.

“Shh,” says Sam, a hand reaching over to stroke his chest familiarly. “Shhh, omega. The big bad alphas are all over there, they’re going to stay over there, like good alphas, Omega is making them back off just a bit, just to give you some breathing room.”

Harley whines because he’s not at all sure he wants the alphas over there. He kinda wants them right here, right close, maybe, like, inside him kind of close, a little. “Shh,” soothes Omega, “Shhh, little pup, let it settle a bit. Natasha, you go tell Thor to wait just a minute, Jane, help her, just a minute, let’s get him back to where he should be, dammit, Steve.”

“Not sorry,” says Steve, and there’s no alpha gravel in his voice but it still does things to Harley that make Tony huff and says, “And shut up, while you’re at it. Just for, like, five minutes, here. _Please_.”

Harley nods. He could- if Omega wants him to calm down, he’s going to need, like, _assistance_. Tony growls a little, and says, “Good ommy. Good pup, trying to be so good for me, I can tell, how’d I get so lucky, two good pups in my pack? Two perfect omega pups, so good, so proud of you.”

“Shhh,” soothes Clint and Sam, on either side of Harley, and he feels himself go a little boneless, calm. It’s completely different than the rumble calm, it feels more like coming up from deep water to gasp air and he nods, eventually, and gulps, shifting under Tony. Tony stares into his eyes for a long moment and then grins. “One left, I promise, and he’s not as bad as Alpha, and then you can sit here and cuddle your partners and stink up the whole place and I’ll beat them back, okay, ommy? Give you a chance to rest, take a nap.”

Harley nods, because okay, he can do that. Omega wants one more scent, he can take it, one more spike and then that nap sounds so good, he’s so tired already.

Thor appears before them, crouching a little like he’s trying to make himself small, which looks absolutely ridiculous. Tony clambers off, and grabs Darcy, pulling her up. “He’s a traditionalist,” Tony says elliptically, but Darcy must understand because she rolls her eyes and blows out a breath and tells Harley, “Right here, ommy, baby, right here, not going far, just let Thor scent you, okay? Right here.”

Thor slides to his knees and Harley pants up at him, because the ozone is electric and so very smug, so very proud. “Are you well?” inquires Thor politely.

“I am,” Harley tells him, a little confused because that, that should be so obvious, his scent is everywhere in this room, _Harley’s_ getting a contact high from the pheromones, at this point, and they’re _his_ pheromones. 

“May I add my scent, omega?” asks Thor, his hands carefully at his side, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners but respectfully serious. 

“Uh, yeah,” Harley tells him. “You, yes. Go ahead.”

Thor waits, patiently, and then Harley remembers, Thor’s Pack, not bonded, and he’s a _traditionalist_ , so he holds up his wrists, delicate inner skin up, an offering. Thor grabs them in one massive hand and brings them up to his scent pads, rubbing them roughly and closing his eyes a little. The scent of ozone is intense, but what’s crazier is the tiny little sparks that fly off of Thor’s skin, to land without burning all over Harley’s arms. “Mine,” says Thor, and Harley nods. 

“Pack,” reminds Harley, he doesn’t know why, but it seems like a good thing to say. Alpha and Omega rumble in approval, so that must have been right.

“Pack,” agrees Thor, accepting the distinction, the codicil. “Mine.”

“Yeah,” says Harley, because there’s sparks landing on his skin because he’s being scented by an actual _god_ , and how the fuck Steve Rogers is Alpha to a god even if he’s Captain America is completely lost on Harley, but he believes it. The apple pie that clogs up his nose, he believes it. He believes there’s no one Steve Rogers can’t Alpha, it smells that good, that strong.

“Not pack,” corrects Tony with a grin. “Team. Team, Thor. Separate bedrooms, no throat bearing, and everyone wears pants.”

“There are a lot of rules on Midgard in this modern millennium,” sighs Thor, sitting back, releasing Harley’s wrists with a scent of regret.

“You said it,” growls Steve, and Harley whimpers a little, because there was _Alpha_ in that voice.

“Dammit,” hisses Tony. “I said ‘shut up,’ not ‘use the voice, crank him up,’ Steve.”

Alpha chuckles and that’s kinda hot, too.

Darcy pats Thor’s shoulder and he gives way, standing up and walking over towards the far wall. Darcy slides down to kneel where he’d been as Clint and Sam both start shushing and praising Harley. Eventually, his scent calms the fuck back down, and then his eyelids are so heavy. He’s _starving_ , everything smells so good, but he needs to nap, too.

Tony rustles around and says, “Okay, well, we’re all here, now, and we have one sleepy omega pup. Might as well call it a day and settle in. Peter, go grab him a post-heat shake, he looks ready to fall over and sleep for days. Clint, Sam, shift, slide over to pull out the section, Darcy, get the section pulled, make the bed, dammit, you know how to do this.” Clint and Sam and Darcy all whine, shifting away from Harley, and Harley whines because they’re _leaving_ him. Three alpha rumbles fill the room, though, making it feel very safe, so very safe, and the whining stops while the sectional is rearranged into a huge sleeping surface. 

“Okay, ommy,” says Clint, pulling Harley back to him on some of the pillows he’d thrown down earlier. Sam slides up to Harley’s other side and Darcy squirms in just behind him. “Okay, we got you.”

“Not alone,” agrees Harley, and then Peter is standing above them, passing down four squeeze bottles of after-heat shake.

“Thought you all might want some,” says Peter cheerfully, his marshmallow scent wafting around. Harley latches on to the shake and sucks for all he’s worth, because it’s perfect, it’s so rich, it’s soothing his stomach after the first three swallows. His eyelids are so heavy, he just lets them drift close, lets his head fall onto Clint’s chest, sucks some more.

“Yes,” says Darcy. “Good omega, thinking ahead.”

Sam whispers, “Shhh, good ommy, go on, suck a little more, get some more into you, finish what you can. Clint’s got you, I got you, do this for us, okay, omega?”

Harley sucks some more into his mouth, encouraged, but he’s so exhausted, he’s not sure he can get it all down, not sure he can stay awake long enough.

“Oh my God, he’s so sweet,” declares Jane, startling Harley enough to rouse him to finish the last of the bottle. Sam slips it from his slack grip and pats him gently, whispering praise. “Tony, you never said he was so sweet, look at him.”

“Okay, one, I didn’t need to, he’s an omega male, Jane, that’s, that’s _built_ _in_. And two, FRIDAY, order in pizza, we’re not any of us capable of leaving right now because she’s absolutely right.”

“You got it, boss,” says FRIDAY. “Regular order, post-Peter-heat, on its way in twenty.”

Clint’s gentlest voice murmuring, “Good ommy, shh, just rest now,” is the last thing Harley hears before he slips away, drifting on clouds of approval and the scents of his packmates.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so, this ate my writing time this weekend, which means I'm gonna have to halt the updates on the other two for a day or two, I'm sorry, muses are a bitch that way.
> 
> I'll gather the links to the ABO stories that I used for research purposes and put them HERE:
> 
> The Trouble With Being a Unicorn (ORIGINAL FIRST REC by ashpaw113, written by Angelworks) https://archiveofourown.org/works/20525117
> 
> Never is a Promise by manic_intent https://archiveofourown.org/works/434332
> 
> Hand in glove I stake my claim by spaghnum (also Heat of Victory also just read all of their ABO): https://archiveofourown.org/users/sphagnum/pseuds/sphagnum
> 
> sharp teeth by romanoff https://archiveofourown.org/works/15865392
> 
> oh don't you dare look back just keep your eyes on me by suzukiblu https://archiveofourown.org/works/3670266 Which is my favorite, but there's a crapton of good ABO from this author, she does some of the best female alpha shit around.
> 
> Probably more. Let me check my history. There's been a lot of it because I was trying to find RULES and it turns out, there's nothing but CREATIVITY in this sandbox. Motherheckin' awesome.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Child Endangerment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23073085) by [Orchidaexa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orchidaexa/pseuds/Orchidaexa)




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